Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Cave of Secrets (10 page)
* * *
Mud and ice had made the ground dangerously slippery. Because it was the middle of winter Tom was not barefoot. He soon realised his mistake, and stopped to take off his shoes and stockings. He did not slip and slide as much when his toes could grip the earth, but soon his feet were so cold they felt numb. He had to put his shoes back on. If he were at home he could warm his feet on the fender.
His damp stockings began to chafe his muddy feet and make them sore. He could feel the blisters rising but he kept going. Why was the journey taking so long? Where were the familiar landmarks? Was it possible he had made a wrong turn?
Surely not. He knew the way, of course he did. Scramble up one more steep hill, wade through a sea of dead bracken, and …
And there was the little river below him.
Below him? He should not have been overlooking the stream. He should have been walking along its bank. He started down.
The voice of the wind, always present in the bay, changed abruptly. A hiss of sleet warned Tom only moments before the storm hit.
M
aura laughed.
She and her brother were sitting on three-legged stools beside the hearth. Firelight painted the walls of the cabin with a rosy glow. Donal was pulling faces to distract Maura from any possible rumble of thunder. The children were alone in the cabin while their parents paid a call upstream.
‘Now I’m a brown hare,’ said Donal. He lifted his upper lip. ‘See what big teeth I have? See my long funny ears?’ He waggled his fingers beside his head.
‘Show me a deer, Don-don. A big red deer with lots of branches.’
‘You mean antlers?’
The little girl held up one hand. ‘Ssshhh.’
‘I thought you wanted–’
‘SSSHHH! I hear something.’
‘Only the wind, and it won’t hurt you,’ Donal said.
She shook her head. ‘Not the wind. Listen!’
To humour her, he cupped his hands behind his ears. And listened.
The wailing cry could have been anything. A sea bird flying over the marsh. Or even the bark of a seal.
The sound stopped, replaced by the cheerful crackle of the fire. Donal drew a breath to speak but Maura shook her head at him. ‘Wait,’ she said.
The cry came again.
‘That’s Tomflynn!’ Maura exclaimed.
‘It can’t be.’
But she was already on her feet and running to the door.
They found him at the edge of the narrow valley, lying on his back, eyes closed, arms flung out, sleet beating against his face. His right leg was bent at an unnatural angle.
Maura flung herself onto the ground beside him. ‘
Tomflynn
, wake up!’
He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘I’m not asleep.’ He sounded hoarse.
‘We heard you calling for help,’ Donal said. ‘Did you fall down the hill?’ He glanced up the steep slope. ‘It’s covered with ice, that.’
‘I must have done, I don’t remember. Everything went white. Or black. I don’t remember,’ he repeated.
Donal extended his hand. ‘Here, let me help you.’
Tom tried to rise, then fell back with a gasp of pain. Maura scowled. ‘Don’t hurt him, can’t you see he’s busted?’
‘I can see that. Run and get Seán and Séamus. Tell them what’s after happening.’
‘Run yourself,’ the little girl retorted. ‘Your legs are longer.’ Lifting her skirt, she pulled down her flannel petticoat. She folded it to put beneath Tom’s head. ‘Run!’ she shouted at her brother.
He ran.
As soon as Donal was out of earshot Maura told Tom, ‘It was me heard you, Tomflynn.’
‘I was afraid no one would.’
‘I know your voice. I know the wind’s voice. It was me heard you.’
Waves of agony swept along Tom’s body like the waves of the sea. He tried to hold them back but they were stronger than he was. He clutched the little girl’s hand. He knew he was squeezing too hard but he could not help it.
She bit her lip and let him squeeze.
Tom lost all sense of time. After a year at least, Seán and Séamus arrived with a litter made of blankets and two oars. The men laid the litter on the earth beside Tom and asked if he could roll onto it.
‘I don’t think so.’ The boy’s forehead was drenched with icy sweat.
Donal crouched down so Tom could see his face. ‘Yes,
you can,’ he said.
Donal sounded so much like Muiris that Tom believed him. One agonised effort and he was on the litter. The pain made him sick to his stomach.
The two men lifted the litter as carefully as possible. Before they had gone far one of the blankets slipped, and the whole thing had to be re-tied. They set off again. Donal walked on one side and Maura on the other. The last thing Tom was aware of was an open doorway. And the cheerful crackle of a fire.
‘Wait for Bríd and Muiris,’ Séamus told Seán. ‘You do not know how to mend broken bones.’
His brother was offended. ‘I am not trying to mend his bones. The lad is shivering and I was about to wrap a blanket around him. Would you have him freeze?’
‘I would not be pushing and pulling at that leg,
amadán
! Leave him as he is and build up the fire instead.’
Tom was somewhere soft and grey, with occasional stars. He heard their voices as a distant buzz. In order to
understand
what they were saying he would have to move towards the pain. Or he could go in the other direction. Into a
roaring
darkness. Where there was no pain.
Probably no pain.
He decided to stay where he was for a while. Floating in the midst of nothing. On a great sea of nothingness …
Roaringwater Bay sprang into his mind. The full glorious sweep of the bay glittering in the sunlight. Like an anchor,
the image of the bay held him in place and kept him from drifting away.
* * *
After a brief but spirited argument about who was to go, Séamus left Seán to mind the children. The last thing he said as he went out the door was, ‘Don’t be touching him now, any of you.’ He set off at a run.
Donal bent over Tom, who was lying on the floor in front of the fire. ‘Séamus will bring my parents. They’ll know what to do. Mother’s a healer.’
‘Your father’s the king,’ Tom mumbled.
‘That’s right! Can you hear me?’
Tom did not answer.
Donal felt guilty for being jealous of his friend. He wanted to do something – anything – to help Tom, if only to give him a drink of water. But he did not dare disobey his uncle.
Maura only obeyed orders she liked. She began to dance around the bed, singing fanciful spells and waving her hands above Tom. Once or twice she almost brushed him with her fingertips.
Seán reproved her. ‘Do not be hurting him now.’
‘I’m helping him. I’m a healer too.’ As if to stake her claim, she put one hand on his forearm.
‘No doctor!’ Tom cried out. He sounded terrified.
By the time Séamus arrived with Bríd and Muiris, Tom was asleep. The pain was making him restless. Bríd examined him as gently as she could without waking him. ‘His leg is broken,’ she reported. ‘Not a bad break, the bone has not come through the skin. He should be with his own family, though. His poor mother will be worried to distraction.’
Donal asked, ‘What can she do that you can’t?’
‘She will send for a doctor,’ said Muiris.
‘No doctor!’ Maura cried. ‘Tomflynn said no doctor. He’s afeared of doctor, whatever that is.’
Tom swam up from his troubled sleep. ‘Doctors make it worse,’ he said.
Muiris crouched down beside the bed. ‘You are injured, Tomás. If Donal or Maura were injured–’
‘My mother mended my arm when I broke it,’ Donal interrupted. ‘She pulled it hard – that hurt something
terrible
but I didn’t cry – then she spread a paste on it and wrapped it in red flannel.’ He thrust the arm close to Tom’s face. ‘Look, you can’t even see where the break was.’
Muiris pushed Donal aside. ‘The night has come and there is a storm, Tomás. I fear it would not be safe to carry you home now, either on a litter or in a currach.’
Carry me home. Muiris and Séamus, probably. My mother will see them. There will be questions. She will tell Father. ‘I don’t want to go, Muiris. Can’t I stay here? I won’t be any trouble.’
Muiris cocked an eyebrow at his wife. ‘Tomás says he will not be any trouble.’
‘In what lifetime will that be?’ she asked with a wry smile. ‘You should not have let him come here the first time.’
‘How could I refuse?’
During the night Tom tossed and turned, but only with the upper part of his body. If any movement reached his leg, the pain woke him. In order to escape he sank back into the soft greyness amid the stars.
He was unaware that he called out a name.
Maura heard him, though. Several times during the night the little girl had crept silently down the ladder and tiptoed across the earthen floor to peer into the bedroom. To be
certain
Tom was really there.
She woke Donal. ‘Tomflynn wants his mother,’ she
whispered
.
Donal replied, ‘I don’t blame him.’ He turned over and tried to go back to sleep.
Maura was relentless. ‘He doesn’t want to go to that house.’
‘What can I do about it?’
‘We can go there, Don-don. You and me. We can ’splain to his mother so she will let him stay with us. Don’t you want him to stay?’
By now Donal was fully awake.
C
atherine Flynn awoke with a start.
Eithne stood beside the bed. Her woollen night cap was askew. ‘Master Tom did not come home last night, madam.’
Mrs Flynn sat up. ‘Where is he? What could have
happened
?’
‘I don’t know,’ the former nurse said. ‘I didn’t see him leave.’
‘Did anyone else see him?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘How can my son leave this house without anyone
knowing
?’
‘Master Tom comes and goes as he pleases,’ Eithne informed her.
‘When did that start?’
‘In the summer, I believe it was.’
‘And no one told me?’
Eithne hesitated, unwilling to make any dangerous
admissions
. ‘We thought you knew.’
Catherine Flynn searched her memory. Were there clues she had overlooked? Had she been too busy with her own problems to pay attention? Her daughters were easy enough, she understood women. But Tom was a boy and she had never understood men. She hated to ask the next question. ‘Has Tom stayed out all night before?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
The household was alerted. The women ran through the house, calling into rooms, opening cupboards. Simon, who had mournful brown eyes like a hound puppy, organised the other men to search outside.
As the sun was rising they made a discovery – but it was not Tom.
Simon hurried to tell Mrs Flynn. ‘We found these rascals skulking in the grounds,’ he said. He was gripping the arm of a sinewy boy. The boy’s other hand was clutched by a small girl.
The boy was flushed with anger, but the girl gave a crow of delight. ‘I know you! You’re Tomflynn’s mother!’
Before she could stop herself Mrs Flynn exclaimed, ‘I know you too!’
Maura glanced up at her brother. ‘See? I told you.’
Simon struggled to keep his face expressionless in this
extraordinary situation. ‘What shall I do with them, madam?’
‘Leave them with me, Simon, it will be all right.’
‘If they make any trouble–’
‘They will not make any trouble,’ she said. After he left the room she voiced the questions that were bursting out of her. ‘Who are you, why are you here, and do you know where Tom is? My little boy?’
‘Tomflynn hurted hisself and–’
Donal put his hand over Maura’s mouth. ‘Tomás had a bad fall, but my mother is a healer and she’s caring for him. As soon as he feels better we’ll bring him home.’
Maura fought free of the brotherly restraint. ‘I’m Maura,’ she said, answering the first question. ‘And this is Don-don.’
‘Donal,’ her brother corrected. ‘I am called Donal.’
Mrs Flynn raised her eyebrows. ‘Donal what? What is your surname – your last name?’
‘Ó Driscoll.’
The woman closed her eyes. Opened them again. Looked from Donal to his sister and back to him. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. And again, ‘Yes.’
Donal’s curious eyes wandered around the great hall. Noticing the dark, heavy furniture. The bashed-in chest. The chairs disfigured by clumsy repairs. The Persian rug.
Maura tugged at his hand. ‘I told you!’ she insisted. ‘I told you it’s fancy. I was here, I saw ev’ryfing.’
Mrs Flynn gave herself a shake like someone waking from
a dream. ‘Indeed you were here, Maura. Did I think to invite you back?’
Maura stared up with huge blue eyes. ‘What’s a ’vite?’
‘Good manners.’
‘What’s manners?’
Donal warned, ‘If you let her ask questions she’ll never stop.’
Mrs Flynn nodded. ‘My Tom is like that.’
‘He is like that,’ Donal agreed.
Catherine Flynn’s knees felt weak. She looked around for the nearest chair and sank onto it. A chair leg creaked a warning.
‘I can mend that for you,’ offered Donal.
She was aware that the servants, and probably her
daughters
as well, were hovering just out of sight. Listening. She made an effort to raise her voice. ‘We need a pitcher of milk, and some bread and butter. And honey; bring a little pot of honey.’ She turned to Maura. ‘You do like honey? I loved it when I was your age.’
Maura’s eyes shone like stars.
While the children ate – sitting crosslegged at her feet, because they refused the chairs – she questioned them. Donal answered as best he could with a mouthful of food and frequent interruptions from Maura.
At last Mrs Flynn folded her hands and leaned back in her chair. The chair leg creaked again.
‘I can mend anything,’ Donal told her.
Her reply was almost too low for him to hear. ‘Some things can never be mended.’
She called her daughters to join them. ‘Tom has had an accident and broken his leg,’ she announced. ‘These children were kind enough to bring us the news.’
Virginia, who had a smudge of blue paint on her nose, said urgently, ‘We must bring him home and send for a doctor straight away. Call Simon back and–’
Mrs Flynn was shaking her head. ‘Tom won’t have a doctor, and you know it. As for bringing him home, I think it best to leave him where he is for now.’
‘We shall go to him, then.’
‘No, Elizabeth!’ Her daughters were startled by the unusual strength of their mother’s voice. ‘None of us are going to him.’
‘Father would expect–’
‘Your father is not here, Caroline. I make the decisions now, and I am making this one.’
The Flynn girls stared in astonishment at a mother they did not know.
* * *
Tom was awake. Looking up, he could just make out the underside of a thatched roof in the dim light. He heard the
crackle of a fire on a hearth. His tongue felt thick and the inside of his mouth was numb.
Where am I? And what’s wrong with me?
He thought back, step by step. Memory came slowly.
During the night Bríd had given him a drink which tasted the way ferns smelt. She had made him drain the cup.
Afterwards
… no pain. Nothing.
He began to remember other, earlier things. Muiris
holding
him under the shoulders. Bríd’s square, strong hands locking around his leg. Pain like the world splitting apart, and himself crying out.
‘I see you are back with us,’ Bríd said as she leaned over him. ‘How do you feel?’
He licked his lips. They were cracked and dry. ‘Thirsty,’ he told her.
She brought him a cup of pure, sweet water, which he gratefully gulped down. It washed the last of the ferny taste from his mouth. ‘Thank you,’ he said. And then, because she was still watching him intently, he added, ‘My leg aches.’
‘Your leg aches because you fell and broke it, Tomás. We repaired the leg last night. You are young and strong; the bone will heal well.’
‘When will it stop hurting?’
Bríd replied, ‘The less you think about pain the sooner it will go away. That is what Muiris always says.’
‘Is Muiris here?’
‘He is not here, he went to look for Donal and Maura.’
‘Were they injured too?’
‘Not at all; they rescued you. But they slipped out while we were still asleep. Muiris thinks they went to tell your mother about your accident.’
Tom was dismayed. ‘That’s the last thing I want! To her I’m still a baby. If she knows what happened she will never let me come here again.’
* * *
At first no one else agreed with Mrs Flynn’s decision.
Elizabeth
said they should pray for guidance before they did anything. Virginia suggested Mrs Flynn might be having ‘an airy fit’. ‘She was very ill for a while, remember? Illness takes people in their heads sometimes.’
That was enough to switch Caroline to her mother’s side. ‘There is nothing wrong with Mother’s head! I don’t know how you can say that, Ginny Flynn. You’re just trying to make yourself seem more important. Mother would never do anything to hurt any of us. If she wants Tom to stay where he is for now, I am sure she has a good reason.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, but I trust her. What do you think, Lizzie?’
Elizabeth looked from one of her sisters to the other.
Virginia
, so brisk and sure of herself, like their father. Caroline,
so soft and gentle, like their mother. Yet obviously there was steel somewhere inside Caro.
There is steel in me too, Elizabeth decided. ‘Ginny, you have no right to question any decision of Mother’s. I shall trust her too. Keep your foolish opinions to yourself.’
No one had ever called Virginia foolish before.
* * *
Muiris returned to the cabin with Donal and Maura. ‘Look what I found,’ he said.
‘They’re soaking wet!’ his wife scolded. ‘Come over to the fire the pair of you, and get warm. And you, Muiris, a hot drink would do you no harm either.’
Tom propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Did you see my mother? Did any of you see my mother?’
‘I saw her,’ Donal told him. His sister jabbed him with her elbow. ‘We both saw her, Maura and me. She is a
lady
,’ Donal added in an awed voice.
Tom looked anxiously toward Muiris, but the man was busy heating a kettle over the fire.
‘And we saw your sisters,’ Maura said, taking up the
narrative
. ‘The big one sitted me on her lap and the little one gived me a … a …. what did she gived me, Don-don?’
‘A sweet biscuit.’
‘A sweet bikkit.’ Maura giggled. ‘With a funny thing on it.
What was that?’
‘The stamp of the Dutch East India Company,’ Donal said. ‘The lady explained it to me. There was a whole box of sweet biscuits but it was almost empty. We ate the last ones. The lady said we could.’
Tom wanted to shout at them, but he managed to sound almost calm when he asked Muiris, ‘What did my mother have to say about me?’
